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The Armor of Life 7th Sanctum by ghost-eye The Armor of Life 7th Sanctum :iconghost-eye:ghost-eye 11 7 Cybernetics Necromancer by Lomebririon Cybernetics Necromancer :iconlomebririon:Lomebririon 312 54 Vengeance of Sailor Witch Ahab by IlluminatedNewt Vengeance of Sailor Witch Ahab :iconilluminatednewt:IlluminatedNewt 45 12 World On Fire by TFresistance World On Fire :icontfresistance:TFresistance 56 89 Darien, The Exhausted by missiongenocide
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Darien, The Exhausted :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 2 11
The Torn by missiongenocide
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The Torn :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 17
Claire the Rivetter by missiongenocide
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Claire the Rivetter :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 3
Playtime is NEVER over. by missiongenocide
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Playtime is NEVER over. :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 12
Atticus, The Broken by missiongenocide Atticus, The Broken :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 2 8 Silvia, Freed and Freezing :P by missiongenocide
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Silvia, Freed and Freezing :P :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 2 13
Glenn. Burning Revenge by missiongenocide
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Glenn. Burning Revenge :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 15
The Betrayed by missiongenocide
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The Betrayed :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 0 7
THE MONSTER MUST BLEEEEEEED by missiongenocide
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THE MONSTER MUST BLEEEEEEED :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 21
Irene, The Wartorn by missiongenocide
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Irene, The Wartorn :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 6 13
Climh in colour by missiongenocide
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Climh in colour :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 20
The Toxic Gemini by missiongenocide
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The Toxic Gemini :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 8

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A Reader! Edgar fanfic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project.

You carefully adjust the vices on your patient and give a rattling, congested sigh. This woman's whole digestive system is a mess, the upper intestine and stomach are full of persistent ulcers and outright holes, the esophagus is a mass of raw red tissue, and the mouth has yellowed teeth, with all four front incisors reduced to stubs and she has no lips at all. What are you going to do about this, especially when you you saw the little bits of intestine, bone and trash caught in her stomach lining? She had told you earlier that she'd been used as a garbage disposal by the Endgineer...if only you could get your cyst-covered hands on those creeps, you'd take THEM apart with a rusty knife. You give a sigh and quickly have to turn around while you cough until your chest aches. Your own condition is making helping your this Belmia girl difficult at even the best of times.

The blistering agony of being covered in boils and sores, raking into your skin like a thousand tiny clawed creatures, is very distracting, you cough up a lung whenever you breathe too heavily, you have tremors and sometimes ooze pus that you have to then clean up off of your clothes. You've made it your life's mission to learn as much about how this curse changes people as possible, especially after you caught it yourself. You can't help but ruminate about what mass of disease and infection you are, any mortal who would dare come into your office would soon become ill with a host of nonlethal but unpleasant illnesses and come away with an ill opinion of yourself as a result. Some self-surgery has revealed that as bad as your outside is, with more benign tumors and sores than healthy skin, the inside of your body is nearly unrecognizable, with fatty grayish tissue riddled with black patches of infection and brown scar tissue as your unnatural disease tried to destroy you. Thank goodness the cursed body is so resilient, or you would be long dead, and where would Belmia, Natalie and several other people be without your help? Still in even worse shape than they already are. It is unfortunate that as your condition has no analogue outside of the curse's bounds, you cannot help yourself. You slip another painkiller pill into the upper left one of Belmia's vacuum pumps, long and serpentine and covered in matte-grey jointed plating, with a hollow circular front filled with four nasty grinding wheels covered in blunt teeth, this was a machine not to be trifled with, and unfortunately one you would have some difficulty with as you are, after all, a doctor and not a mechanic. But its a part of your patient's body, so you will have to check to make sure its working too before you let your next patient, a young woman in a yellow dress who looks like a zombie, who has been waiting patiently to be seen by you since this morning.

Then, there is a crack. You listen carefully, no that is not your illness attacking the joints in your fingers and giving you false arthritis again, that is coming from outside. An enraged shriek makes you decide to tell your patient, after a few more loud coughs "Please stay here and don't move, I'm just going to investigate that awful racket and come right back."

Belmia nods, a bit groggy from the load of painkillers you found in an old pharmacy and have been giving her throughout the operation, "Yesh, but thish is urgent."

You nod back and run out of the front door of the abandoned clinic you use as an office and home. They place is quite run down, even the door is not quite on right, but you would rather have a dirty appropriate work-space than a clean inappropriate one. And Bel is right, this is quite urgent and you don't enjoy being interrupted in this way, especially as running around out of doors worsens both your cough and your blisters. But you can't have someone throwing a hairy fit outside your office when you are trying to work.

You fully intended to tell off this interloper until you came outside and saw who it was. If the large hole in the ground was not alarming enough, you saw before you a horrific being indeed, like a great inky black worm attached to a particularly damaged doll with the underneath of an octopus, this horror's lone eye fixed on a bloody young man in a dress, who looked to be a Titleless and also like he was in pretty bad shape, "You do what I want you to and stop running away!" The horrible worm-octopus-doll creature screams at him, "You are a very bad toy, screaming and running around like that!" Not only is this horrid creature capable of speech, she is delusional! If only you where also a psychologist, perhaps you could calm down this thing and ask why it is having a berserk fix on your lawn.

You look around to see if perhaps there is anything you could use to get her to stop brutalizing that poor Titleless when you see the zombie-like young lady come out of the front door, "Don't fight her, get inside. She's named Vicky, she's a Vassal, I learned it from a man named Darien who knew her personally from before he was cursed. How he went on about how much her condition has destroyed her! But the man with the glowing stuff coming out of him was a good source if information, I know he was telling the truth from just how worked up he was. So please stay out of this unless you want a broken back on top of all your other problems..."

You've never heard Amy be so eloquent in all the time she has been a regular patient of yours, which has been a while. So clearly this is a matter of some importance, and you follow her advise of heading back inside, away from this irate creature people called Vicky...what an inappropriate name for such a Scylla-like monstrosity. You personally would give her something with three syllables and lots of nasty sounds so people would know to stay away from that...thing.

You get back to work on Belmia and carefully finish up what little fixing of her problems you can do. You still need to get to Amy today, and as you look out and see the sun has passed, you can't help but notice that that Vicky creature was still outside, minus the Titleless, peering at your office with obvious interest, the ropelike structures between the two parts of her body taught. You excuse yourself from Bel as she recovers from surgery and go to ask Amy, "What do you suppose she wants." Amy peers through the dirty cracked front window and watches.

After a few moments, she tells you, "I think she wants to come in."

You nod and head out to talk to her. No one is every going to accuse Edgar Verin of turning away a patient, not even now. Back in the old days, it was easy. As you where considered an expert on this Curse, everyone came to you for advice and your healthy, strong body made you a capable researcher and a your natural care in the lab kept your partners from being infected. You would likely have learned to have created a hospital for cursed, a special facility where you could help them all, even your old aquaintaince Razzil, who you have spotted traveling with a group of others while you where out trying to scavenge some medicine. As much as you tried to prove treatment was a better use of medical knowledge than vaccination, you miss the young man and wish him luck.

Right now, you have a bigger problem. Inexorably, Vicky was moving towards you, and for the first time since your transformation, you felt real fear. As the octopus-like form came close to you, recognition dawned on you. This is the very same cursed that attacked you and infected you while you where getting tissue samples from that house...what is she doing here, is she going to hurt you more? You are not afraid of much, though the one fear you have always had was the reason this horrible creature had found you, cursed you, and you could see she did not know she was doing anything wrong. People where toys to her, or she was acting on orders. Back then, it made you feel sympathy, right now, realizing she was now homeless and angry, it made you even more afraid, more afraid than you have ever been, and she could sense it, coming even closer and gently putting one of those long tentacles around your middle so you could not back away any further.

She grinned at you, "Ohhh...what's your name again? You're the doctor who was afraid of germs!" Amy and Belmia are still in earshot! Did she come just to humiliate you? You try to protest, to yell but all you do is cough like crazy, though this does make Vicky hesitate to come any closer. Vicky gave a small, sly smile, "I want to play doctor at your house." Considering she was quite familiar with Endgineer's methods, this was an alarming proposition! She contained after seeing your face fill with fear, a clearly a bit disappointed, "But Mr.Blisters, I'm homeless. The mansion blew up." So the rumors are true, and once again your pity for this creature clouds your better judgement a moment. But surely, your medical practice would be ruined if you let her stay. You needed to get her to leave somehow...

You smile at her, as best as your cyst-covered face can allow, "I will go inside and try to find a room for you." Go ahead and lie to the kid. But you really could not accept having the very one who made you this way in your life...it would make you even sicker than you already are, simply because you know she'd tell EVERYONE that you became cursed because you are afraid of diseases. You head into your lab and go and get a one of the five samples of Belmia's extra-strong stomach acid you extracted earlier, you can do without one. You are convinced you can use it to destroy your lab waste, hopefully in a way that does not harm Belmia the way Endgineer did. Those ropes, however, where your current priority.

You rush out of the door and come back towards Vicky, the vial tucked in your hand, "I have a room ready for you, please come in." She giggled delightedly and rushed forward, her worm part struggling to keep up with her octopus part but managing it. As she rushes for the door, you act, throwing the vial of stomach acid at one of the ropes. Vicky screams in pain and you immediately feel like an utter heel as the 'rope' is destroyed and goes limp, forcing Vicky to slump on one side, "What is wrong with me?"

Pretending to be cold, you tell Vicky, "You cannot stay with me. Science needs you to not be in my way. I'm sorry, it is really honestly nothing personal." She lets the remaining 'ropes' draw her back into her wormlike part's mouth even as that one BLEEDS black goo, the wormlike body turning around and leaving through the same hole it came. She's gone, and you go inside telling Amy, "Your appointment is up." Belmia had gone into a back room to clean up, the other reason you could not let Vicky stay is that she was temporarily boarding with you.

Amy followed you to the examination table as you slowly take out the tweezers and insecticide and rubbing alcohol. As you start though, you hear Amy's burring voice dig into your headache-filled, tumorous head, "Why did you do that?"

Your feel your eyes get wet as Amy's wintry blue gaze meets yours with cold frigid anger, and let yourself cry...no use hiding it now now, "I...medical science needs me to not have to look after a demanding child in an adult's body....also...she knows my secrets, all of them, what if she tells someone something embarrassing...most of all, maybe...its hard to forgive the person who cursed you."

Only at the last explanation did the zombie-like woman soften, "I did not know she infected you. Its all right, I'd likely feel the same way if I had any idea who infected me. But never do that again."

You look up at Amy as you move to take the maggots out of a decay patch on her knee, on your knees yourself, "I won't." Luckily, Vicky's ropelike structures, like all parts of a cursed body, will heal to their original state in time.

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A Reader! Eternal Moment fic for Missiongenocide's cursed project.

Fists hit something smooth and solid but weightless again. You know its not really happening, that you are not back in that house, back with those people. Others called them your home, your family, but others did not see the truth. You've forgotten what they where really like, and in each revisit to the horrible nightmare of your life it has become that bit worse. You beat at the odd wall around you, hoping the noise will attract some help, but you doubt any is coming, even now that you've been moved by...something very powerful that this odd barrier probably kept from seriously hurting you, it makes no difference. You are still trapped by those things who have the gall to have ever called themselves your parents and older sister.

"What is this ugly thing?" Says a fat, bloated man to a lanky, angular woman with a pointed nose. The fact that you were related to these gargoyles is absurd, but true. You always had plain features, what you saw in the mirror was an ordinary but haggard face and short black hair, with a skin tone like a sheet of paper. Its a small wonder, as you never really got out much. You don't know how it originally was, but this time your parents have put a large deadbolt lock on the door and only open it when they themselves go out, or they let your sister out to go to dance practice. The only place you go other than the crumbling, damp walls of the house is school.

At the moment, you are going to your first period third grade class, surrounded by people who don't pay much attention to you, with the teacher giving you a steady eye. The likely reason for the watchfulness is you are falling asleep in class, something that you have to not do in order to avoid the wrath of the monster who calls herself your sister. Your older sister is possibly the worst of the three of them, armed with a healthy figure and complexion, a stately face and long flowing dark hair. She would be waiting for you when you came home from school, and if you did anything she thought was stupid, well she seemed to have no problem with getting blood on her nice pink dress. And you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you know, you are heading for your house, walking as slowly as possible. You tried to volunteer to clean the chalkboard, but the teacher would have none of it. So here you approach the badly-maintained Victorian, like a bad haunted house attraction at the end of the road, and see your sister standing by the door, one hand in the other. She raises her head and smiles sweetly at you, asking, "Did you fall asleep in class again." You shake your head,saying nothing. You head past her for the door, trying to hide the fact you are shaking with fear, but is no use, she tells you, "You did, didn't you?" She then lunges at you, and while you struggle against her, the fact you have to eat whatever is left over from everyone's meals and don't get a lot of exercise means that you can only really slow her down as she pulls you into the backyard, closes the fence gate and pummels you like she used to pummel the dog...before she beat it so badly it died, anyway. At least you understand your sister, even as she yells about how bad you are at everything between blows. After all, her so-called parents are nasty to her too, just in a different way. Her excellent grades, her dance classes, her beauty, all of it came from being given garbage to eat if she didn't perform to their standards. Actually, you can see your parents in the yard, near the back door. The person who calls herself your mother has a black eye, and the person who calls himself your father has some pieces of his hair missing. Its not like they are any more tolerant of each other's flaws. You kind of hope one day they will actually divorce so they won't feel the need to take it out on both of you anymore.

You had perhaps gotten some attention, but you have no way of knowing for sure. All you have experienced for a very long time is the repeats, never fading in vividness and worse and worse, and this barrier means no one can touch you to snap you out of this dream. You feel your throat has become ragged, but you have no idea if your screaming, sobbing or gagging from the gears in your body pushing on your stomach. The hands have moved, scraping along your skin in their slow but relentless circle, and the chain around your neck has dropped, nearly choking you.

Now you are looking at your calendar in your dirty, drafty room. The date is October 13th, and it is circled in red. The room is actually an old nursery, complete with still having pink wallpaper and a dusty crib, but you fit in the bed, the door closes and neither your parents or your sister can enter the room if you've locked it. You have the key hidden in an old rag doll you found in the attic, and reluctantly fish it out of the hole and use it to unlock and open your bedroom door. If you did not have to go to school and the bathroom weren't downstairs, you would gladly lock yourself in your room for the rest of your life and get away from these three horrible slimebags. As it is, you needed to sneak some breakfast out of the fridge before anyone notices your there. You head down the stairs, pass your so-called sister and your so-called father arguing while the latter is sitting on a smelly, coffee-stained couch, and manage to make it into the kitchen to see that mother is deliberately eating the last bit of the food on you. You ask, "Why?" Your mother turns and yells about how she's hoping you'll die of starvation, that you should get ready for school and that she doesn't want to see you ever again. If you had anywhere else to live, you would go and fulfill her wish, but you don't know anyone willing to take you in. You pack up and head for school, knowing that your math teacher can at least tell you've not had breakfast and give you half a bagel. You honestly think you've never been not hungry, not yelled at or not disliked by anyone except a few teachers in the school who have some idea something is wrong at home. You head off to school, relieved to hear that the three other family monsters have escalated into hitting each other instead of you. You bet you are the only one who even knows today is your birthday.

You feel the hands moving even now, reminding you this is at least not real. It seems more real than the grating of the gears inside your body, but sometimes the pain jars you out of your hallucinations. Another scene starts, and you yell again, trying to get help, trying to get anyone to notice, but it seems to be no use.

Clang! The ring of your internal bell mechanism had rattled through your whole body. It means only one thing, and you have often nearly broken your own jaw for gritting your teeth to brace for it.

You look at your calendar again. You are sixteen now, which means you finally are old enough to get out of here. Its the middle of the night, close to midnight in fact, and tomorrow is the weekend. It is the perfect time to get out of here. You already have hidden your schoolbooks, unlocked the door and hid your key in that doll, and now had taken the house keys from your mother's purse. You can hear your so-called father coming down the stairs, but you nearly had the door open. You know if he saw you had taken something from that purse he would assume you are trying to steal it and call the police on you at best, administer justice with his own hands at worst. One of the earliest scenes of today was when you where no more than six, he had found you with an apple, thought you stole it when a neighbor gave it to you, and nearly put you in the hospital. And now, he is coming, and your hands are shaking like branches in a strong wind. There, you actually unlock the door and run. You have no supplies, you brought nothing but your old white t-shirt and and a pair of jeans so dirty they look like they are made of mud, and didn't even have time to put on your shoes, but you don't care, anywhere must be better than here. You run and run and run, stopping to catch your breath, going through the rest of the night, the next day and the day after, just concentrating on moving forward until you find yourself stumbling through a hole in the brush.

You realize that you are in a whole new town, one where people stare at you for your bedraggled state but no one knows you. Are you really going to be ok, settle down here? No, you are going to go a bit further still, so far no one will be able to find you, but you need somewhere to stay the night first. Looking around, you see a huge, ruined house on a hill in the distance. It looks ominous, but your so-called family are never going to find you in there, and you can spend the night with a roof over your head...after all it is becoming very dark outside and you can feel its getting damp already, so you head towards it. As you do, you feel the ominous feeling grow, and consider going back rather than go through that rotting wooden door, but then is begins to pour unexpectedly, and you are wet in minutes, it looks like the decision is made for you. You enter the house and immediately realize your mistake, as the first thing you hear is the sound of ticking everywhere, and a ghastly figure appeared out of the wall. He is emaciated, with papery white skin and a mop of scruffy black hair worse than yours, and his clothing in rags. You would feel rather sorry for him where it not for the random collection of branches growing out of his body, his tree branch limbs and most of all the horrid sly smirk on his face, "So I find you at last." Why does he sound like a whole bunch of people talking at once? He is reaching out his arm and you try to flee, but somehow he just comes out of another wall and grabs you, staring penetratingly at you, "The little picked on boy is running away from home? You are not going anywhere." That is when all of this started, and you heard your whole body size up as a pile of gears from the old house's clock tower came down and smashed into your body, one by one making as you are now.

You found yourself reliving the worst moments of your life from then on. Or at least you think so, each time those monsters who people called your family seem to act a little worse, the whole world is a bit less sympathetic, a bit more rundown. You hit something smooth and solid and weightless again, screaming out words you can't hear.

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A reader! Jeanette fanfic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project.

Light, movement....a fierce current sends you surging from the place where you have been rooted by tangled weeds for longer than you can remember, sending you head over heels down a thin channel, where it takes all your effort to avoid hitting your head on a rock or being buried up to your waist in mud. You pull into yourself, calling on your curse to actually help you for once concentrating on staying upright. After a while of being tossed relentlessly you are amazed to discover that you are suspended in the current upright, following its flow through a mass of narrow, dirty and dark waterways, feeling a bit dizzy, sure but now in far better control of the situation than you where previously.

After what seems like hours and hours, you finally are thrown into a larger basin, quite far from the lake you tried to swim across to escape those monsters that where after you, where you tried to swim as fast as you could just to avoid this fate and failed, losing strength and sinking. Looking around, you see this lake, while larger than the one you had tried to cross that unimaginable time ago, was little different than the one you left, though it seemed a bit brighter and easier to see, this likely was because it was not shadowed by the dark clouds and black trees that surrounded the mansion...the mansion that had taken your mother...she's dead, but likely in a far better place than you. Does she know, somehow, that you are in a living hell, trapped in a world of murky brown water, small fish, tangling weeds and small shrimplike creatures that like to nibble on the edge of your skirt? Looking around, you see the same brown cloudy water you had left, and already small sea creatures have come to investigate you and nest in your water-rotted skin, making you wince as sharp pain passes through you like a railroad spike as they enter. You seem to be attractive to all kinds of unwanted guests and your attempts to get rid of them have never been completely successful. For the sake of your mother, you bear the agony of living things digging into, growing on and eating little bits of you, you can't scream because no one outside of the water would hear you, so you hold yourself tight and let them drive themselves inside, piercing you with pain. You move to deeper water to get away from the rest of the creatures and find a place you can stand and survey the lake better, but all you can see is murky brownness, even when you stop to put your feet on the bottom and look.

The only exception to the monotony is upward, where light from above filters down in tan shafts, and for the first time in a long time, you can hear people moving above you. People who could enjoy this place without being trapped in it, unlike you. Eyes are little good but ears are of great use in the underwater world, though you could not clearly hear the group of people above you, just low muffled voices. Happy voices. Your tears dissolve in the water so your not sure, but you think you are crying, if you are its for the life you lost. You used to love swimming and are still a strong swimmer, even though the freedom you felt underwater is long gone, turned into the feeling of being a prisoner, longing for companionship, the feeling of wind on your face, being clean and fresh, laughing. Its all gone now, and you will never get it back. You look up again and see a face peering back at you, you can't make it out clearly but its a small one, that of a child. In one last desperate move, you pull yourself upward. You know you can't stay at the surface for long, you tend to sink, but this is your one chance to end your loneliness, your existence of only murky water, being burrowed into and the burning of your lungs,a chance to having something besides longing and memories. So you climb up to the shore and grab a rock, looking up at what you can now see is a young boy, looking back.

The kid, not much more than eight, points at you and says, "Mom, Dad, there's a girl in the water!" You are actually kind of surprised they come over to look. As much as you loved your mother when she lived, and as much as you miss her now, you admit to yourself that she never listened to you when you told her about all the odd things you saw. And living in this town means you have seen quite a lot of odd things. You can't really reach up and take the hands of the man and woman who approach the water's edge, but it takes all of your strength to keep you from sinking as it is, you can't afford to let go of the rock. You try to speak, but your water-filled, burning lungs can make no sound. All the three people see is you open your mouth with a pained expression, and this for some reason, makes them all move away, looking horrified. The parents pulled away their kid, who sadly looked back at you like he understood you meant no harm. You waited a few minutes, then a few minutes more, the family did not come back. Your strength gives out and you sink, your heart sinking with you and your hopes fading to a glimmer along with the light as you head for the bottom of the new lake and stay there, no longer having any energy or spirit to swim or do much else. The fish close in and eat bits of your skin and dress, but its nothing compared to the void inside.

You get it now. The tree monster who made you this way wants it even worse for you, so he sent you here, where you can actually see others be free in the world of air while you stand here at the bottom of this lake. Stand here and let the weeds grow over so you will never reach the surface again, stand here and rot? No, you can swim up again, you just need to regain your energy, you have never been the strongest person but you will keep trying to at least see what is going on up there.

You will never be free but you can't let yourself just stand in the mud while the lake takes over your body like you have been for who knows how long before. Before you where grown over with strong weeds, so you had no choice because you could not swim freely, now you can.

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A Reader! Baron Dermot fanfic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project. (Warning, mild spoilers.)

You are laying on your face, the heavy board pressing down on your back. Your being in the basement workroom must mean you didn't fly as far as the others, but it was a powerful blast indeed...you can only guess what could have caused that massive wall of greenish energy, and even through you did not go far you still where outside the town that has been built around where you would have had your home. Thank goodness the house that you built, that you created is gone, but it seems the problem you began, you created, is just getting STARTED. You, in an irrational moment, got angry and shot a mere child who was trying to stop you from hurting a horrible plant he insisted was his own mother. He was being angry and irrational, yet you still where the one who struck first, still the one responsible for the murder. Even if that monster child hadn't come back and taken his revenge on you, you doubt you could have lived with yourself in any capacity, and as it was you have no one out of those close to you left alive...just their voices which even now are yelling in your ear about all the bad things you've caused. Its not really them, its just the headed vine that has dissolved most of you into its mass. It doesn't hurt, but not having much of you left means that getting up is going to be a problem...and if you are going to have any dignity left at all you can't just stay laying down. Right now, you are missing a good chunk of the skin off your spine and you have your face in the dirt, still haunted by the memory of taking your weapon and firing that shot. You buried your pistol afterwards, for all the good it did you.

You push yourself slowly up though the board is heavy and your ancient, frail, half-mummified and nearly organ-less body is not suited for lifting anything remotely heavy, and its been ages since you've had the motivation to move. But staying here would not solve anything. You have spent a long time, at least as long as your mortal lifespan over again, not acting when you should, starting with when the curse moved from killing those close to you to affecting you personally. At first you thought hearing your wife, who had died in a collapse during construction, was just your conscience playing tricks on you, then that vine and miniature copy of your head burst out of your stomach...it was actually a good thing nobody was around to see it happening to you, as more heads slowly formed and grew out of your body turning it into a tangled mass with very little of you left...and there was very little left of your mind either, at least the mind you once had. The voices of the people you once knew, of strangers killed by the likes of the Vassals, of those closest to you, have informed you of every bad thing that your single rash action caused. As you slumped there, a hopeless barely-mobile corpse, the number of heads slowly grew, the weight sent you falling from even your cross, showing your utter inability to find redemption, your utter lack of any redeeming qualities. But now, the wood is not part of the wall, and neither are you. Standing upright you try to survey your surroundings but the heads move in like wasps, yelling at you, blaming and biting and saying some less than refined language and nearly bowling you over. Only by spreading the odd demon wings attached to your arms do you manage not to fall again, and make and effort to try to push them out of the way. You feel tempted to punch a few but that would likely just make your own head hurt and do nothing to the demented little guilt creatures that have grown out of your own flesh and bone.

They only exist to torment you, and only have ever taken a break from it to gather more information to torment you with. Repeating and cackling and throwing up on your feet, you have never had a single minute free of them, and now in your moment of trying to start to actually do something besides let them hurt you, you are quickly getting outnumbered and undermined. Yet you manage to stay upright, the board through your back ironically helping you stay supported. Finally, they give way enough for you to see that you have landed in the barren black remains of what was once the forests on your property, towards the outer edge of it in fact, as you can see living growth in the distance. There was no one else here, so the best idea was to get out of here and try to find others...they would hate you, but they had to know you are the one to blame. You need to own up to what you did, to the fact you where the one who pushed that child monster over the edge and made him infect everyone...all the victims of this curse need to know. Your the real villain of this morbid, sick story and nobody has known it but you up until this point.

Even walking was very hard, as the heavy board and your weakened body made it hard to keep your balance and the heads have redoubled their blaming, criticism, hateful words, the verbal barrage so great that it was hard to make out anything but the occasional chanting that this was all your fault, is all your fault, will always be all your fault. Normally, this would make you sink to your knees, but you keep going, trying to speak and finally managing a few, raspy, haggard words, "Yes, it is. I am going to stop letting you torture me...I am going to admit all of it..." You repeat it back over and over but your voice is so faint that it can't be heard over the racket of the heads and finally are forced to stop because you can hardly breathe as it is, even as you slowly stumble over the roots and rocks and into the green forest beyond, sticking to the paths and trying and failing to drown out the increasingly bad taunts of the heads, whose supporting tendrils started to bunch up. Every time you have tried to ignore the taunting heads for too long, they have become violent, but this is too important. This blast of green energy has provided you the one chance to be free of being trapped in the basement of the rotting remains of your own house and your own memories of the terrible things you've done. You will never redeem yourself, never be free of these heads, and by the half-deserted look of Sunset Vale itself, you will never be able to rebuilt a damaged world.

But you can fix the bridges you've burnt, give your fellow cursed the truth, allow them to understand everything from the beginning. You know know you can still speak, despite the desiccated state of your whole body including your lungs, and that is enough. The heads are moving in, starting the bite your ears and get in your face, having found your balance you plow forward using those odd demon wings the monster child added to your arms for some reason for balance, heading forward. You are going to find the others and explain everything, and nobody...not even that demon child will stop you from setting things straight.

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A reader! Amy fanfic for Missiongenocides Cursed project.

You are carefully examining a boarded-up house, trying to figure out how to remove those boards before the thick, dark clouds you see on the horizon make their way to where you are. The destruction of Dermot Mansion caused the perpetual overcast weather to dissipate, but that does not mean mundane rain can't make your situation even more embarrassing than it already is. You manage to find a place where the nails are not quite as hammered in near a window and start to pull. Good riddance to that horrid house, but being sent flying is certainly rather inconvenient, especially since you are as lost as a straw in a haystack and have no idea how to return to Sunset Vale and your father. Even if this whole curse thing ended, you would still not find the one person in the world you would ever want to find. After all, the daughter of a funeral director, of all people, would understand that life is limited and that your father must be getting old by now. Is wanting to see him one last time before you lose him too so much to ask?

Aha! You are now standing with a board in your bony, yellowish hands and are just a few more away from getting to that window. You put the board down nails-down so no one will hurt themselves on it and start prying at the next one. A normal human being would not have the endurance, and most other cursed would not have the strength, but you can push yourself beyond the normal limits and not suffer any further harm than you already have. Its quite unfortunate that the reason for your power is that you're a walking corpse. Even now, you are distracted from pulling those curse-blasted boards off of the window by the pains of rotting, the slow stabbing pains on various parts of your body where the rotten flesh had given way and showed exposed muscle. It healed quickly, but was demolished only slightly more slowly, so that at any time there where several parts where the pulse of your body tearing apart shot through you, just like being stabbed with a knife over and over. Do all dead people fell these pains, but can do nothing about it? Its a disquieting thought.

Standing back to look at your handy work, you grab the last board and slam it into the window. Zombie endurance and a quickly healing body made you a very formidable foe of any attempt to keep you out of somewhere, and you have always had a natural talent for sneaking around. You used to just use it to take bruised fruit left over from the farmer's market at the end of the day, but now it served to keep you hidden from the sight of mortal folks, who would surely freak out at a walking, talking corpse in their midst. No point in bothering with trying to socialize with people who would just run away. You do have a few friends, namely the anatomist Edgar and you got along quite well with those two female cursed passing through here a few days ago in the other direction, but to be honest, you are alone most of the time, and you don't like it one bit. Being alone has meant being vulnerable, and as durable as this horrible corpse of a body you have is, there are people out there who can give you a beating, and you've met them.

Seeing the broken window in front of you, you pull yourself in without a second thought, feeling a little sharp glass rake you. Aren't you in enough pain already? But it was only momentary and you found yourself inside a surprisingly intact abandoned house, and none too soon. You could spend the next few days here without a problem, protected from the early summer storms that might come along, but with HIM on your case, you should keep moving. The Black Dragon wasn't like that red brute that attacked you sometime soon after you had been cursed, he was emotional and acted on impulse, easily dealt with by being just as tough and ferocious as he was. You think that red guy actually respects you a bit now, he hasn't shown up to harass you after that. Not like this guy with the black cracks on him. You evaded him once, leading him to the edge of Janette's lake prison and turning suddenly, causing him to skid on the slippery mud and fall into the water, but now you were nowhere near anywhere where you had the advantage of knowing the terrain better. The only way to avoid your mysterious pursuer now was to keep moving. You cannot be scared for your life because you don't have one anymore and can't die, but something about this young man who can shoot purple flames out of his hands activates some kind of primal self-preservation instinct.

You see rain pouring outside as you sit on the couch, the stabbing pain joined by the discomfort of maggots nibbling at the exposed muscle. You have tried your best to stay clean and have no idea where you picked up the bug infestation, but you can't seem to get rid of the annoying things no matter what you do. It is just like whoever is behind all of this to add insult to injury. Slumping on the couch and trying to ignore the steady jabs in your body, it is hard to avoid becoming hard on yourself.

You could have not told your friends your father worked at a funeral parlor. You could have tried harder to avoid the dead and grieving. You could have learned to get used to it all the way your father had. You could have avoided going to the hospital to see old grandma dying, you could have not run into the the black dead trees near Dermot Mansion, you could have been further away from that green blast that sent you all the way to wherever here is. Now you are alone in a strange town, wracked with pain, without even the comforting rhythm of breathing and heartbeat or the comforts you are used to, perused by your most relentless and ruthless enemy and worried sick about your only living family member, your busy and esteemed father.
You felt something on the edge of your eye and moved your hand to remove it, assuming it was a fly coming to land on your left eye, which was blind due to being on the rotted side of your face, instead you felt wetness against the sticky exposed tissue. You touched your other, good eye and discovered water. Crying...you are crying...this isn't like you. You are a daddy's tough little girl, not some crybaby...

The fact you are crying only makes you cry more at the fact that circumstances had pushed you so far, so fast and so deep into despair. The irony isn't lost on you, but you can't stop yourself. Amy D'eath, crying...the shame is just too much and you are very glad your father can't see you right now. And all of this because you idly wished you would die so you would not have to deal with losing anyone else. You know, deep down in your unbeating heart that you thinking that is what caused you to end up a rotting, animate corpse, wracked with pain like being stabbed with dozens of knives, abandoned by everyone.

The rain shower passed, and night fell. You honestly don't notice it at first, but you look out the broken window and see it is dark, with stars shining somewhere far away where things are better. Judging by how your hair is moving there is a slight breeze coming in, but your dead body feels nothing but pain, and has felt nothing but pain since your transformation. You used to cope okay by giving your other senses a pleasurable sensation, the sight of deep green living forests, the smell of a field of flowers, the taste of the odd bit of left-behind tea. But out here, in this unfamiliar place, you are too busy running and hiding to do much of that anymore. The reminders that you are a cursed cannot be drowned out any longer.

You have been technically dead for a long time, but you still managed to imitate life until now. These days...these days you feel dead too. You mutter to yourself, "I need to not break down now...who knows what this guy will do to me." The moon rose and poured light on you, and somehow things seemed ever so slightly less bleak than they did a moment ago. You are going to find your way back to Sunset Vale. All you needed was some way of knowing which general way to go, and you have forever to get there.

You needed to see your father, regardless of your current state. He might know what to do, and even if he doesn't, you want him to know his daughter has not abandoned him.

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Wintereye111
Jessica Brooke
Canada
A multi-subject artist, trying to avoid suspicion and spread creativity. I prefer fanart, but might do something original once in a while, to.
Interests
Look at this, you get a free poem while I explain my new Don't Stave fanart project. My first 'story through pictures' style fanart. So..here goes.

When infinite realms are in the shadows grasp.
Careful avoidance of anyone who would be missed is an important task.
But sometimes, it does not go as planned alas.
And the darkest chapter of the ink-black story does begin.

Wilson and Maxwell, former enemies, huddle in a strange cold breeze.
It should be summer, autumn soon coming.
But the chill is very great.
A premature winter weather movement?
But the throne is now United. Queen and King should be one.
There should be no power greater!
But it seems...there was one.

In recent days, the selection was altered.
Charlie, both King and Queen, had this once faltered.
Someone passed who should have not passed.
Someone with a god's long gaze.
Despite his body a frail and mortal shell.
This one, He who Unstands.
Conquered the wilderness land.
Without turning back, he saw the Seats all before his eyes.
Maxwell the Creator, Wilson the Heir, Willow the Destroyer, Woodie the Savage, Wendy the Medium, and all the rest. Each really thought that they where best.
Once again, in temporal cycle round.
This strange visitor found himself bound.
He easily overcame the crumbling tests.
Put up by old Maxy to challenge the rest.
Though small and frail, he now beheld.
The flower-strewn Throne, Charlie's power seeping through.
Oh, how that once innocent woman had done more harm than all of them together!
He would defeat her, and destroy that throne forever!
Three days battle finally felled the Queen and King as one.
But our story, it seems, has only begun.
The Cycle of kings once again begins its horrid spell.
As certain as the certainty of a clock striking twelve.
The throne's flowers fell, and even though the intruder could,
in an instant, go from here to there, the flower gates had slammed shut.
He could run absolutely nowhere. Charlie laughed, and Maxwell raised his head, looking grim.
He said, "I'm sure of it, the shadows have taken him."
Wilson was about to ask who his sorry former nemesis alluded,
when he heard a gasp, and turned to see the grim events concluded.
Black tendrils grew razor thorns, and bit into white bone.
And thus, the only one who could have saved them all was bound upon the Throne.
And so the growing icy chill bit deeper, deeper to the core.
A low deep icy voice declared what all would have in store,
"I am not like the other rulers. I will not be going home. If I must, I will wipe,
this land clean and close the holes. No one else will enter this place, no one else will leave. No one else will be around, and I will stay forever bound."
Wilson tried to raise a cry, but the voice spoke back, "I'd like to see you try. Kill the world and everything in it, I will just drag you to Hell. I've seen enough to wish to make anyone cry. It's all happened to me before, no one else is getting hurt. So be quiet...or you'll die."

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:iconsinistrosephosphate:
SinistrosePhosphate Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Greetings, 

Thank you very much for adding my work to your list of favourites. I appreciate your support very much (especially when it comes to a fellow Canadian). Much obliged!

With gratitude,
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SonicMasterHero Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2014
W-Wow...u dont have any friends.....
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